


Salute, Salute!

by callunavulgari



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Allison Argent, BAMF Stiles, Bigotry & Prejudice, Cunnilingus, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Fanmix, Magical Stiles Stilinski, POV Allison, Pack Cuddles, Tattooed Stiles, Vaginal Sex, Werewolf Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2293577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles smirks at her, a glint of white in the dark. “That’s it exactly. It’s the circle of life, girlfriend. You hunt us because you’re scared, because we’re different. We hunt you because you want us dead. It’s that simple.”</p><p>“You keep saying that,” Allison growls. “‘We.’”</p><p>Stiles laughs at her, head thrown back to reveal the white line of throat, just like that day in the sun. “I may not turn into a big bad wolf, Argent,” he says, still smiling. “But don’t ever think that I’m just their little red riding hood. I’m just as much of a wolf where it counts.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stilinskimccall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskimccall/gifts).



> Okay, so! This thing! My prompt options were: assassin au where the ship works together, assassin au where the ship works against each other but end up having angry sex, kinda like mr. & mrs. smith, and a day at the beach. There was also a pairing specific prompt involving Stallison which I threw in there as well, and I tried to mesh them all into one fic, but obviously the beach thing (which was supposed to be the ending scene) didn't happen. Whoops. This fic has fought me so much that I don't even really remember everything that I wanted to say about it, but basically, I really hope you enjoy it, even though this is less assassin au and more what would happen if the Hales and Argents got paid for trying to off each other. 
> 
> The second chapter is the tracklist and everything for the [fanmix](http://8tracks.com/callunavulgari/salute-salute) accompanying this fic. It's not so much a second gift as it is a bonus, so hope you enjoy horribly poppy lady rap.

When Allison was ten years old, her aunt took out a hit on the Hales. She’d succeeded where others had failed, razing the house to the ground and collecting the bounty on each and every werewolf head that had been behind those walls.  
  
She’d bragged about it over the dinner table.  
  
“Oh,” Allison remembered saying, her father a furious silhouette to her left. She thought about how often they moved, and how all the training her parents had been shoving down her throat for years suddenly made so much more sense. “I see.”  
  
It wasn’t the reaction that her father and mother were expecting, but judging by the look of mixed pride and glee on her aunt’s face, _someone_ at least had expected it.  
  
.  
  
“On your left, Argent!” a familiar voice yells as a dark shape darts around her shoulder. Allison scowls, hands clenched around the grip of her bow. She can’t make out much, even with the light of the full moon to help her along, but she knows that voice and the lean body that it belongs to.  
  
“Now isn’t the time to be quoting Marvel movies, Stilinski,” she calls back sweetly, raising her bow. She’s tempted to get him into her crosshairs and ‘miss’ her target, but she isn’t that cruel. Even if Stilinski is an asshole who deserves a projectile to the kneecap.  
  
Somewhere ahead of her, there’s a burst of flame and a bark of laughter, the light searing itself across her corneas. She blinks and the afterimage is still there.  
  
“I think now is the perfect time,” Stilinski shouts back at her. She can just barely see him now, crouched in a little alcove a dozen feet from where her mark is cowering behind one of his bodyguards. She would have liked to keep this job cut and dry, but Stilinski is a complication she hadn’t counted on.  
  
Stilinski’s grinning, trademark red hood obscuring all but the tilt of his jaw and the flash of his teeth, but it isn’t his face she’s paying attention to. It’s his hands, wreathed in blue flame, the edge of a dark tattoo peeking out from his wrist.  
  
He’s going in for the kill, readying whatever stupid spell he’s got prepared for this, and she cannot let him get this one. This is _her_ job and she’ll be damned if she goes home without finishing it.  
  
She aims, the mark’s quivering head right where she wants it.  
  
Allison smirks when Stilinski catches her eye, his head jerking up, a horrified look on his face as he realizes what she’s about to do.  
  
She lets the arrow fly.  
  
.  
  
“Stilinski’s a traitor,” she growls to Lydia later that night. There are six empty shot glasses stacked in front of her and a seventh one in her hands.  
  
“Yes, yes,” Lydia sighs, downing her own shot with a roll of her eyes. “Stilinski is a traitor and a turncoat and doesn’t deserve to call himself human. We’ve all heard this before.”  
  
“He’s an _asshole_ ,” she growls, dipping her finger in the vodka and putting it in her mouth. Still tastes like ass. “Did you know, that the second time I ever met him, he compared what we do to _World of Warcraft_? A video game!”  
  
Lydia snorts and waves over another cocktail. “That sounds like Stilinski,” she muses, flashing the bartender a flirty smile when he drops off her pink… whatever it is. It probably tastes better than vodka.  
  
“He’s a complete dick, thinks that everything is a game, and he runs with _werewolves_. What self respecting human _does_ that?”  
  
“The lady doth protest too much,” Lydia sing-songs, fluttering her eyelashes playfully. “You forget, I was there for the ‘great war of the sexes’ in that hodunk town in Indiana. You can lie to yourself, sweetie, but you can’t lie to me. You want to climb him like a tree.”  
  
Allison clenches her fists until her nails cut into her palms; downs her seventh shot. She grimaces, wrinkling her nose at the taste. She doesn’t drink often. She can’t really afford to, not when being hungover on a job could mean losing crucial ground or worse, alerting the mark to her presence. But tonight, she’s well on her way to truly sloshed. She’s earned it. Her next job isn’t for another week and Stiles Stilinski is a grade A asshole that she does not, under any circumstances, find attractive. That’s more than enough justification.  
  
“I just don’t get it,” bursts out of her. “He’s human—”  
  
“Spark,” Lydia corrects, collecting the sugar around the rim of her glass on her pinky and popping it into her mouth.  
  
Allison glares at her. “He’s _human_. Just because he can do a little bit of magic doesn’t mean he’s not human. Everyone knows that magic users stick to their own kind.”  
  
Lydia raises an eyebrow at her. “If they did that, there wouldn’t be any magic users on our payroll. Emissaries, sparks, sorcerers, druids, witches… C’mon, Al. Just because they look human doesn’t mean they are.”  
  
Allison makes a frustrated noise. “But they aren’t like _them_. They aren’t shapeshifters or vampires or fucking sex demons. They’re just people who ended up a little magic.”  
  
“You know,” Lydia says, unblinking. “There have been witch hunts for centuries. If you’d asked the puritans about witches, they wouldn’t have told you that they were just people ‘who ended up a little magic.’ They would have called them abominations and then set them on fire.”  
  
“What’s your point?”  
  
Lydia sighs heavily. It’s her Jackson sigh. The sigh that means she’s losing faith in humanity. “My point, dear, is that maybe his kind have more in common with the supernatural than they do your typical human. And maybe, just maybe, Stilinski’s sticking around the sad remains of the Hale pack for some reason other than the fact that it annoys you.”  
  
Allison wrinkles her nose until she sees double and downs another shot. “Doubtful.”  
  
.  
  
Allison sees Stilinski again two weeks later. He’s laughing, head thrown back, the corners of his eyes crinkled with pleasure. She studies him for a moment through her crosshairs and this time, she doesn’t think about missing her mark — doesn’t think about putting an arrow through him, even somewhere non-vital.  
  
Instead, Allison just watches him as he taunts his mark. She's curious and frustrated, and more than anything, she wants to understand. The sun is shining and his face is lit up and warm, where she usually only ever sees it shadowed, lit only by moonlight or fire. He looks good in the daylight, she thinks, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. He looks human and touchable, despite the gun in his hands and the red hoodie on his back.  
  
Then he shifts on his heels, bending down over his mark, and Allison has a perfect view of the curling lines of the triskelion across the back of his neck, forever marking him as a traitor, branded with the mark of the Hale pack.  
  
For a moment, the anger is curiously absent, and she lets herself consider Lydia’s words — that maybe there’s more to him and the Hales than she thinks.  
  
Then she’s right back to wanting to shoot him.  
  
.  
  
“Why do you do this?” Allison asks him the next time their jobs coincide. It’s just the two of them, stuck in some goddamn storage shed because they’d _both_ made some damn stupid mistakes and ended up here, forced to take shelter together from a common enemy. Allison is angry and tired, a little cold, and she can’t for the life of her get Lydia’s words out of her head.  
  
Stilinski props himself up next to her, his clothes rustling in the quiet. He’s looking at her. She can imagine his eyes glinting in the darkness, can imagine them on her face. She hates him, hates everything he stands for, but she wants to know _why_.  
  
“Same reason you do,” he admits a few heartbeats later, his shoulder bumping up against hers in what’s probably a shrug. “I do it for my pack. For my family.”  
  
“But you—”  
  
“I’m human, right?” he interrupts, and it’s dark, but not dark enough that she can’t make out the shape of his teeth in the darkness, quirked into a humorless grin. His teeth aren’t sharp. Stilinski has no fangs like his pack brothers, but he could tear her throat out anyways. “You want to know why I’ve turned my back on my own kind. Why I happily run with my wolves.”  
  
She gives a jerky nod, throat working around the urge to throw accusations his way. A hand touches her arm, the pads of his fingers callused like hers. He doesn’t heal the way his wolves do; he’s warm and flawed and human.  
  
“Once upon a time,” Stilinski says after another long moment, his voice pitched strangely, as if he’s trying to shoot for humor and failing. “A werewolf named Peter Hale bit my best friend in the entire world. He was one crazy motherfucker and I— Scott and Derek are fucking hopeless on their own. Seriously. They’re not idiots, but god, they’re _stupid_ sometimes. I couldn’t leave my best friend like that.”  
  
“And you couldn’t—”  
  
“No.” Stilinski sucks in another ragged breath, lets it out slow and steady. The heat of him is distracting, makes her want to reach out and touch him too. When he continues, his voice isn’t half so barbed. “Scott’s been my brother since I was in diapers and I kind of inherited Derek when the guy’s uncle bit my best friend. I helped them out, helped Derek become alpha, helped Scott get control of his wolf. Then I just kept helping.”  
  
“They’re monsters though.” Allison frowns, fiddling with the ragged hem of her shirt. “My dad’s best friend got turned when he was younger too, and he had to put him down on the full moon. His friend was trying to kill him. He _had_ to.”  
  
Stilinski shrugs. “Every circumstance is different. I’m not gonna say that there _aren’t_ dangerous werewolves out there. Peter was fucking off his nut. We— did you know that we took out an alpha pack? They were crazy fuckers too, high on power and jumping at the bit to become some kind of… I don’t know, supernatural gods. But Allison, not all werewolves are monsters. It’s all about the circumstances, dude. Fuck, sometimes _humans_ are the monsters. That’s why I do what I do. I protect my pack. What’s that saying that you Argents are so fond of?”  
  
“We hunt those who hunt us,” Allison whispers, fingers digging into the concrete below her. It’s an old saying, an old family motto that they’ve had since they were hunters, since before they made the jump to getting paid for what they did.  
  
Stiles smirks at her, a glint of white in the dark. “That’s it exactly. It’s the circle of life, girlfriend. You hunt us because you’re scared, because we’re different. We hunt you because you want us dead. It’s that simple.”  
  
“You keep saying that,” she growls. “‘We.’”  
  
Stiles laughs at her, head thrown back to reveal the white line of throat, just like that day in the sun. She wants to bite it, just a little bit, and wonders if that’s intentional —wonders just how much he’s picked up from his wolves, if this is him mocking her, telling her that he doesn’t think she’s a threat. “I may not turn into a big bad wolf, Argent,” he says, still smiling. “But don’t ever think that I’m just their little red riding hood. I’m just as much of a wolf where it counts.”  
  
.  
  
The very first time that Allison had met Stiles, she’d almost shot him in the face.  
  
He’d danced out of the way, long, coltish limbs flailing in every which direction, and had given her this _look_ , his eyes narrowed and dark, mouth curled on a sneer, like she’d done it on _purpose_. At the time, her cousin had sneered right back and said, perfectly audibly, “Should have gone ahead and hit him, Al. Would have been a helluva happy accident.”  
  
She’d given him a horrified look, watching out of the corner of her eye as the boy in the red hoodie disappeared around the corner of a building. “But he’s human.”  
  
Her cousin had raised a single eyebrow and snorted. “Stilinski’s not a human. He’s a goddamn wolf in sheep’s clothing.”  
  
.  
  
It doesn’t happen because she’s drunk or drugged or high on adrenaline. Allison’s been there before. She’s fucked around with people for all of those reasons, because she likes sex as much as the next girl, and there’s something incredibly satisfying about having a good orgasm when your veins are still singing from the thrill of the hunt.  
  
No, it happens because she’s _angry_.  
  
She’s only seen Stilinski up close a handful of time. Usually when she sees him, it’s through a scope, or a glimpse of him darting back into the shadows. Stilinski has always been a collection of parts to her — a pant leg disappearing into a dark alleyway, a white flash of teeth, a hand wreathed in fire. Stilinski preferred a more personal approach to his kills where she preferred to off her targets from afar. They had no reason to see each other up close, no reason to see each other at all, really.  
  
This time, she can see him.  
  
He’s still sooty from ash, face lit by fire that was, for once, not caused by him. Up close, there are details. Stilinski isn’t just a collection of parts held together by magic and pure obstinance. He’s a person, a warm human person who has a collection of moles scattered across his face that somehow look charming rather than stupid and a complicated network of celtic knots dipping below his neckline. He has dark hair flattened to his scalp and large doe brown eyes.  
  
Allison knows the framework of him — knows the silhouette of his body in a dark room and the way he moves when he thinks there’s a threat nearby. Even these details, the dark hair and the brown eyes, she’s known. But up close, he’s a real person, reeling from smoke inhalation and clutching a minor burn on his arm.  
  
It makes her angry, that he has the audacity to look real and _touchable_ , so Allison does something stupid.  
  
She tugs him out of the burning house, her hand wrapped tight around his wrist, and when they’re out, she pins him to a nearby tree and kisses him.  
  
He makes a noise, says “What the fuck, Argent?” She happily ignores him, digging her fingers into his hair and yanking him closer.  
  
Allison fucks him because she’s angry, because Lydia’s right, because she hates the fact that she doesn’t understand him. She does it because they both nearly died and for a moment there, she was more worried about him than she was about herself — because for a moment, he was something smack dab in the middle of civilian and ally, and the need to protect him was almost unbearable.  
  
She’s sliding down onto his cock, putting her mouth on his neck and licking the taste of soot and ash from it, when she growls and hisses, “I hate you so fucking much right now.”  
  
His hips jerk against hers and he actually smiles, sharp and wolfish, and says, “Yeah, I got that actually, up until ten minutes ago. You Argents, such goddamn contradictions.”  
  
“Shut up,” she snarls, twisting her hips viciously. To her surprise, he does.  
  
.  
  
She shows back up at her and Lydia’s apartment a few hours later, still stinking of fire and sex, a ring of hickies around her throat like a tacky string of pearls. She hurts all over — scratches from where the tree had dug into her back, bruises the shape of his fingers low on her hips, a burn on her elbow that she’d acquired sometime between the building bursting into flames and getting the both of them out.  
  
Her hair is still a mess from his fingers, her lips feel swollen and oversensitive, and she’s not quite limping, but she’s definitely walking more gingerly than normal.  
  
Lydia takes one look at her — one look — and sighs, crossing the room quickly and pulling Allison into a hug. “C’mon, you,” she says quietly. “Let’s get you into the bath, then you can tell me all about whatever stupid thing you did this time.”  
  
.  
  
She doesn’t expect to see him again soon.  
  
Allison expects to go on with her life and maybe, a few months down the line, he’ll interfere on a job again and everything will be normal.  
  
So, of course she sees him a couple weeks later, when she’s in the middle of a job, hunting down some nameless monster that’s been living in the swamps on the outskirts of New Orleans. She’s absolutely _covered_ in mud, her hair matted to her skull on one side with her own blood. She’d headed back into town out of desperation, down to just her knives, her vision going sideways, so Allison isn’t paying much attention to the crowds until she spots him.  
  
He’s leaning up against the wall of some club, long skinny body a study of black and white, for once without his signature red hood. She wonders if it’s some kind of inside joke that he has with the wolves rather than the declaration that her family seems to think it is, and then the realization that he’s actually there hits her.  
  
Allison stops, staring, and just watches him chat with the two men at his side, his hands gesticulating wildly as he talks, those same hands that gripped her hips so hard that some of the bruises haven’t even healed yet.  
  
His face lights up when he smiles for real.  
  
It’s intoxicating, nothing like the smile she’s seen, the one that’s half weapon, all sharp edges and glinting white teeth.  
  
Allison is still staring when Stiles shifts position, mid-laugh, straightening up and popping a kink in his neck, his eyes skating over the crowd nonchalantly, not quite looking for a threat, but aware all the same. She can _feel_ the moment his gaze lands on her, dark eyes sharpening as his spine straightens.  
  
She sways, dizzy, her already blurry vision going speckled all over, and she has a second to think that maybe she hit her head a bit harder than she’d initially thought before she’s going down hard.  
  
The impact doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would have. It’s actually kind of soft, in a really firm mattress kind of way. She blinks once, twice, and has to do it a third time before Stiles’ face comes into focus. His arms are wrapped around her and while she’s still on the ground, but he’s got her head tucked against his chest, so that explains the lack of pain at least.  
  
“Hey, hey, Allison,” he’s saying, urgently, long fingers pressed to her pulse before they’re skating up, his hand carding through her hair until it reaches the lump on the side of her head. She winces, her entire body jerking with it when he pushes his thumb up against the wound and his hand is gone just like that. “Sorry, sorry, jesus. It’s okay, you’re okay— fuck, how did you even end up like this?”  
  
She blinks at him again, woozy, and slurs, “Stupid swamp monster hits like a mack truck.”  
  
The tension that’s been clinging to him evaporates and he snorts, hands gentle again as they skate over her body, checking for other injuries. There are a couple— it had gotten her good at least once, probably fractured a rib or two, but it wasn’t until her head slammed up against that tree that she’d realized just how fucked she was.  
  
“Stiles, what are you—” a voice goes nearby and she turns carefully, head lolling at an awkward angle to bring the speaker into view, and oh, she thinks, dazedly. That’s definitely Derek Hale scowling down at her, his forehead crinkling with confusion. The moment he realizes what he’s looking at, his eyes go wide, and he crouches down next to Stiles immediately, hissing, “Is that a fucking _Argent_?”  
  
“Well, it sure as fuck aint Snoopy. Jesus, Derek, take a chill pill. She’s hurt,” Stiles bites out, shifting her again so that her head’s pillowed by a warm thigh. Allison can only imagine what the crowd around them thinks. God, she hopes that there aren’t any good samaritans around tonight. Stiles is one thing, but she doesn’t want a stranger near her right now. She doesn’t even really want Derek Hale — a fucking _wolf_ , the part of her that sounds like her aunt screams — this close to her, especially when his eyebrows alone look like they’re thinking about eating her for a midnight snack. “C’mon, help me get her out of the street.”  
  
The muscles of his thigh bunch as he prepares to stand, but just as she’s bracing herself for what’s sure to be some very painful jostling, Hale is grabbing Stiles by the shoulder and growling, “Are you _insane_? What if she has backup?”  
  
“If she had backup, I’m pretty sure that they would have been the ones catching her so she didn’t face plant into the pavement. Now c’mon, I’m serious—”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Hale snarls urgently, eyes flashing red, making each and every fight or flight response she has go off at once. “Even if she’s alone, what do you think the Argents would do if word got back to them that a pack of wolves were making off with one of their own? Huh? Do you really think that they’d assume we were just helping her out?”  
  
Allison’s lashes flutter against her cheeks as she blinks again. The whole world is spinning a little bit and her body feels weirdly heavy. She doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like it or Derek fucking Hale, with his stupid face, making her feel like she should feel guilty, making her feel wrong—  
  
“I’m sorry that my aunt killed your entire family,” she tells him suddenly, the anger that’s been sitting on her chest for weeks loosening so suddenly that it feels like it’s been punched out of her. She clenches her eyes shut just as he’s shooting her a startled look. “It was a dick move. I mean, Stiles says… he says that you guys are just like us, that you aren’t all monsters, and if that’s true— if that’s true then I’m sorry, because that means that _we’re_ the monsters and that’s not okay. That’s not—”  
  
Rapidly, she loses her train of thought. Already the memory of what she’d just said is wobbly, knocking around in her skull, and that’s probably not a good thing. It had seemed so important.  
  
Allison doesn’t open her eyes again, because she has the sneaky suspicion that if she does, she’ll throw up, but she can feel the silence anyway — can feel the way that Hale and Stiles are staring at her — and it’s shockingly not horrible.  
  
“Okay,” Hale says after a long, long moment. “Fine. But if we get one _hint_ of movement from any of her kin, we’re gone. _Gone_. We will leave her bleeding in the hotel room if we have to. Scott! Get over here!”  
  
Hesitantly, Allison cracks her eyes open. Stiles is still there, his face an odd mixture of mutinous and thankful. He’s warm. Human warm, not werewolf warm, and his body is more comfortable than the ground. She stares for a long minute at the line of his jaw and the scratchy stubble that wasn’t there two weeks ago. She wonders how it would feel against her neck. Probably scratchy.  
  
Then there are arms beneath her knees and shoulders and they’re _lifting_ , which gives her the spins all over again.  
  
“There’s a very good chance that I’m going to puke on you,” she slurs at whoever is holding her and then the world goes dark.  
  
.  
  
Allison wakes up in an unfamiliar bed. The first thing she notices is that she’s absolutely sweltering, her hair sticking to the sweat-slick skin of her neck and her clothes, oh god, her clothes are fucking drenched.  
  
The second thing she notices is that there are at _least_ three bodies on the bed with her.  
  
Her eyes snap open, dislodging at least one arm and maybe a leg or two when she sits bolt upright, her heart pounding.  
  
“Calm down,” a voice says quietly and she jumps, eyes snapping down to where Hale is peering up at her, his head pillowed next to her thigh. He looks… like a lot of things. Sleepy, but alert, ever vigilant. Dangerous. He definitely looks dangerous, even in the middle of some kind of cuddle pile.  
  
“Calm down,” she repeats, eyebrow raising as she pointedly glances from side to side. Stiles is pressed all along her right side, an arm flung out around her belly and he’s... _drooling_ into a pillow, mouth wide open. The other guy that he’d been talking to—Scott?—is stretched around her shoulder, his upper half curled just above where her head had been a moment ago. There’s an unfamiliar girl too, hair a knotted mess, whose arm is still tucked around Allison’s stomach right alongside of Stiles’. “How the hell am I supposed to be calm right now.”  
  
“This is how we heal,” Hale shrugs, stretching long and slow, his toes curling against the sheets. “You aren’t pack so it won’t work as well, but you are still healing faster than a normal human.”  
  
“I don’t even want to ask how that works,” she says, shaking her head a bit. She frowns and tries shaking it again. “Why am I not in pain?”  
  
Hale cracks what might be the very edge of a sharp smile, a hint of tooth showing when the corner of his lip quirks upwards. He gestures to the girl’s hand tucked around Allison’s belly, then to Scott’s elbow, which was probably touching her shoulder until she’d moved. Allison squints, cocking her head when she notices the thick black veins running up the length of their arms. “They’re taking your pain.”  
  
She blinks. “I didn’t know you could do that.”  
  
Hale shrugs again. “There’s a lot that your kind don’t know about us.”  
  
“But _why_?”  
  
Immediately, Hale’s expression shutters. He doesn’t scoot away from her, but he looks like he wants to. He also looks incredibly uncomfortable. “Stiles is pack. He vouched for you. That’s not… I’m not going to lie to you, having you — an _Argent_ — anywhere near my pack is going against every single instinct I have, but Stiles insisted. He’s—”  
  
“Stubborn as hell? A complete pain in the ass? Has dubious morals that crop up at the weirdest of times?”  
  
Hale snorts. “I was going to say persistent, but those work too.”  
  
They lapse into heavy silence and she, for lack of anything better to do, settles back down, tucking her head up against Stiles’ shoulder and smiling when he nuzzles into her.  
  
“Why would _he_ do this for me though?” she blurts out eventually, when the desire to know becomes too much. “I mean, we barely know each other. He steals my kills and I steal his back. We got stuck in a storage shed together. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that this whole pack cuddle thing of yours is a big deal — why would he risk this? No matter how hurt I was, I’m still an enemy.”  
  
“You’d be better off asking Scott than me,” Hale tells her, rolling onto his back. “He knows Stiles better than I do. But like you said, he’s got a weird sense of right and wrong. Sometimes he’ll get these notions and just obsess over them. And when he does that, it’s best not to argue with him. Also—” he adds, voice suddenly dry as the Sahara. “He doesn’t make a habit of sleeping with people only to leave them bleeding in the street two weeks later.”  
  
Her entire face goes hot. “You noticed that?”  
  
Hale looks at her, face twisting. “He came home smelling of Argent and _fire_. I wouldn’t have been able to miss it if he’d used every bar of soap in the whole damn city.”  
  
Allison goes quiet, shivering, because what can she say to that? She’s been in this business for years and she’s never… well, she’s done a lot of things over the years. She doesn’t _know_ if she’s ever killed unjustly, because to her, every creature’s death was just. But knowing what she does now, being in this bed with the remains of the pack that her aunt nearly wiped out, hammers that point home.  
  
“I meant it, you know.” she tells him quietly, hands clenching when Hale turns a curious eye her way. “That night Stiles and I got stuck in that shed, he said something to me. About monsters. I haven’t been able to get his words out of my head, so just. I am. Sorry, that is. For what my aunt did.”  
  
Hale just looks at her, one eyebrow arched high. Allison thinks back to the last time Lydia had briefed her on Stiles’ pack, how she’d said that Derek was allergic to conversation and that he hated anyone and everyone who wasn’t in his pack. But here he is, helping her, the niece of the woman who killed his family, just because one of his pack members asked him to.  
  
Again, she wonders if just maybe, some things had gotten lost in translation along the way.  
  
.  
  
“Those aren’t your clothes,” Lydia says the moment Allison lets herself into the apartment.  
  
Allison shoots her a narrow-eyed look and closes the door behind her. She feels grimy from too many hours spent in the airport and just wants a shower and her bed. Instead, she sighs, and says, “Hello to you too, Lydia.”  
  
Stiles had tried to offer her his hoodie, before she left. The red one. _His_ hoodie. The one he was known for. She’d glared at him until he laughed and tossed her a pair of sweats and a random graphic tee — red, because _of course_ — and she’d shrugged them on over her underwear and bra without bothering to leave the room. Why should she? He’d already seen it all.  
  
Neither of them had mentioned that night in the woods, but there was something there between them, crackling and intense like Stiles’ magic, pulled taut like her bowstring. It _was_ something, and judging by the looks Hale and his pack of puppies had sent them, they knew it too.  
  
And now she’s standing in her apartment with Stiles and pack on her skin, suddenly incredibly grateful that Lydia doesn’t have a werewolf’s sense of smell.  
  
On the couch, Lydia crosses her ankles primly and leans in towards Allison, eyes shrewd. “So,” she says. “Fess up. You should have been back from your job days ago and now you come back in sweatpants and a t-shirt?”  
  
“I could have stopped at Goodwill,” Allison says loftily, kicking off her boots.  
  
Lydia sneers. “You would never.”  
  
Allison sighs, crossing the room to drop down on the couch beside Lydia. She’s tired and feels gross, but her brain is still whirring a million miles a minute. The pack had helped her take the swamp monster down, in the end. Stiles had insisted, growling at the wolves over breakfast about how he owed her one until Scott had finally shrugged and said that he was in.  
  
Allison doesn’t think she’ll ever forget how it felt to fight alongside them. None of the wolves really trusted her and she certainly didn’t trust them, but Stiles could be incredibly convincing when he wanted to be. It was… eye opening to say the least, taking the creature down with a pack on her side. Stiles had burned brighter than usual, his eyes searing with magic as he froze the swamp water solid, trapping the thing there.  
  
She’d wondered, at the time, if it was his pack that made him stronger or if she’d just never seen him at full strength.  
  
“Remember when you told me that Stiles had to have a reason to stick with the Hale pack?” she asks, burrowing her face into her crossed arms and inhaling the stale scent of Stiles left behind — the faint burnt ozone smell of his magic, sweat, and deodorant.  
  
Lydia leans in, eyes bright, and breathes, “You’ve been with _Stilinski_? Are those _his_ clothes?”  
  
Allison snorts and smacks the hand that’s reaching towards her without looking. “It wasn’t like that. Not like last time. But I—” she pauses, biting her lip. “Let’s just say that I know now. Why he sticks around.”  
  
“Do you, really?”  
  
Allison smiles, thinking of the way the pack had moved together — how Stiles, Scott, Malia, and Derek had danced around each other, practiced and strong, even missing half their members. They fought together like Allison and her dad used to, back when she took jobs with him and mom.  
  
“Yeah,” she whispers. “They’re his family.”  
  
.  
  
Allison’s hands are shaking as she dials, so badly that she actually hits the wrong numbers a few times before she gets it right.  
  
When Stiles answers, she breathes out a shaky sigh and stays quiet for so long that he makes an irritated noise over the phone. “Hello?” he repeats, annoyance coloring his voice.  
  
“There’s a hit out on your pack,” she says quickly, before she can convince herself to hang up. “On Derek, mostly, but the pack— there’s incentive for all of you.”  
  
Stiles sucks in a quick breath. Says, “Allison?”  
  
She’s shaking so badly that she thinks she might throw up. Every Argent instinct in her is telling her to hang up, that she’s making a mistake — that she’s as much a turncoat as Stiles is, just for making this phone call. But she _remembers_ Stiles’ pack helping her take down the monster in New Orleans; the feel of them draining her pain as they helped speed along the healing process. She remembers Derek, looking at her in that dark hotel room and _helping her heal_ despite her name.  
  
“Stiles,” Allison whispers, sliding down the wall and pulling her knees up until they’re touching her chin. “Stiles, I think my aunt’s going to take the job.”  
  
(“There’s no such thing as a good monster,” her aunt had told her once, scowling when Allison had turned down a job that would have meant taking out a pair of eight year olds.  
  
“They’re children,” she’d replied, not looking up from her bow.  
  
“They’re _werewolves_ ,” Kate hissed and turned away to take the job herself.)  
  
There’s silence over the line, deep and all-consuming, before Stiles’ breath lets out on a slow, shaky exhale, and suddenly Derek is there.  
  
“Are you sure?” Derek asks gruffly, and she’s still shaking with guilt and fear, but his voice helps ground her. Stiles would have been too much, she realizes abruptly, because somewhere along the line, she’s actually grown to care for him. Allison doesn’t know when it happened — actually, no, scratch that, she knows exactly when it happened; she knows _where_ it happened, not in a clearing with her legs around his waist, but on a hotel bed surrounded by sleeping wolves. Those feelings she has for him, whatever they are, and the knowledge that this is what’s _right_ , are enough.  
  
Enough to give up her aunt and betray her family in one fell swoop.  
  
Because that’s what this is. A betrayal. In the eyes of her family and every other human on the board, she’s betraying her species with this simple phone call.  
  
And that’s why it’s easier to speak to Derek, why the panic is ebbing even as her thoughts continue to whirl. She cares about what happens to Derek Hale and the rest of his pack, but only because _Stiles_ would care.  
  
“I’m sure,” she tells him once she’s sure that her voice will hold steady.  
  
Derek hesitates; in the background she can hear Stiles complaining about Derek stealing his phone, and that’s enough to bring a small, shaky smile to her face.  
  
“You know that—” Derek starts to say, so close to apologetic, and she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want his apology, not when in some way, she owes this to him.  
  
“I knew what would happen when I made this phone call, Hale,” she bites out from between gritted teeth. “Just—”  
  
“We’ll take care of it,” Hale says gently, and hands the phone back to Stiles.  
  
Allison closes her eyes.  
  
.  
  
She goes to the funeral.  
  
It’s probably even a good one, because Kate was powerful and loved in the hunter community, but Allison isn’t paying much attention. She’s only staying long enough to overhear her grandfather’s plans, anything to give the pack some sort of advantage. When that’s done, Allison looks for Lydia, finally catching her eye from where she’s standing near the fountains.  
  
Lydia nods, as if she understands.  
  
They walk out together, Lydia’s head held high and Allison’s bowed in a parody of mourning, and when they slide into Lydia’s car, she puts two plane tickets in Allison’s lap.  
  
Allison just stares at them, her eyes wide, and Lydia turns the car on and says, “They’re keeping their heads low for the time being, but I know where they’re staying for the next two days. We leave tonight.”  
  
“Won’t we just lead my family right to them?” Allison asks, because it’s easier than what she wants to say.  
  
Lydia glowers at her. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to get a plane ticket in our actual names? No, they won’t be able to track us. Danny’s making sure of that.”  
  
Allison bites her tongue the rest of the way to their apartment, the one that they’ve shared since the end of high school, and it’s not until Lydia’s helping her pack the essentials that she lets herself ask, “Have you been playing both sides this whole time?”  
  
“No,” Lydia tells her with a sniff. “I’ve been waiting for you. I wouldn’t jump ship without you.”  
  
“Is it because—”  
  
“We don’t talk about Jackson,” Lydia says through a forced grin, voice sing-song and playful. It’s about as fake as Allison’s last conversation with her aunt was.  
  
“Okay,” Allison says quietly, knocking their shoulders together. “Okay.”  
  
.  
  
None of the pack meet them at the airport, not even Stiles, but Allison hadn’t expected them to. Instead, Lydia rents a car under a name that isn’t hers, and they drive.  
  
“It’s about an eight hour drive to the safe house,” Lydia tells her, poking at the radio until something poppy and upbeat comes on. She hums, pleased. “You can sleep if you want.”  
  
Allison, who hadn’t even been able to sleep on the plane despite the bone-deep exhaustion, sighs, and settles her head against the window. She thinks of her mother, who has always been the strongest woman she knew; her mother, who she is probably dead to by now.  
  
Mostly though, she thinks of her father — of the code he tried to hammer into her skull, of the memory of his lips on her forehead before bedtime when she was little, and his smell, like gunpowder and metal. She doesn’t wonder if he would have come with her, if she could ever hope to explain the mess of feelings clogging up her heart, because if she thinks about it, she’ll drive herself crazy.  
  
No, Allison watches the scenery go by. She doesn’t sleep.  
  
.  
  
“So,” Stiles says with a bright grin when they roll up to the house. “Coming over to the dark side, then?”  
  
It’s just him outside, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket. He looks like he might have been waiting for a while. She wonders where the rest of the pack is — if they’re inside or if they’re running around the woods somewhere.  
  
“I hear you have cookies,” she says simply, rounding the car to help Lydia haul out Allison’s two suitcases, which are both about 5% clothes and 95% weapons. Allison’s pretty sure that Lydia bribed at least a dozen people to get them through security. That or she paid Danny to hack the systems.  
  
Stiles snorts and flashes a grin her way.  
  
Next to her, Lydia sighs heavily, and drawls, “If the two of you are done flirting, I’d like to get some sleep some time tonight.”  
  
Stiles waggles his eyebrows at her. She’s not thinking about the way his fingers felt inside her when he purrs, “But where’s the fun in that?”  
  
She’s not.  
  
.  
  
“This is all your fault.”  
  
“ _My_ fault?” Stiles cries, flinging his hands up in the air and erecting some kind of shimmery barrier around them. “You’re the one with the crazy family!”  
  
“They’re not all bad!” Allison growls, waiting until Stiles drops the barrier to let loose an arrow.  
  
“Yeah, just last week your mom tried to kill my best friend and your dad busted out the windows in Derek’s car. Real nice group of people.”  
  
“Three months ago, _I_ was trying to kill you!”  
  
“Yeah, well, clearly you’ve come a long way. Maybe the rest of your family will get with the program.”  
  
“Ugh, whatever. We need to get out of here. Cover me.”  
  
She doesn’t know where the rest of the pack is — she’d lost sight of Kira a few miles back and before her, the last person they’d seen was Derek, who’d gone tearing through the treeline fully shifted, growling like he knew exactly where Allison’s grandfather was hiding. At this point, she kind of hopes that he did know, because she is thoroughly sick of this.  
  
The rain has turned into a full blown thunderstorm by the time they reach shelter, just a little burnt out house in the middle of the woods. It doesn’t seem like it’s been touched in a while, but without one of the wolves here, it’s impossible to really tell.  
  
“Come on,” Stiles goes, tugging her in by the elbow. “Let’s get inside.”  
  
Inside, it’s still damp, and still smells faintly of smoke and ashes. She doesn’t like it.  
  
“We should probably get these clothes off,” she says reluctantly, plucking at the blood-soaked cardigan she’d been wearing when a couple of her cousins had jumped them at the latest safe house. It was a shame. She’d liked this sweater.  
  
Stiles is leering at her, so she snorts and flicks him in the forehead. “Not like that, idiot. Not all of us like being covered in blood.”  
  
“Hey, I don’t like it either, but at least I’m wearing red.”  
  
She looks skeptically at his hoodie, which, sure, it may be red, but that doesn’t mean you can’t see the blood. Because the blood is very much there. “None of that’s yours, is it?” she asks, frowning as he lifts the hoodie over his head, letting it smack wetly on the floor.  
  
He wrinkles his nose and points to a gash just above his collarbone. It doesn’t look deep, probably from an arrow or something nicking him, but it still makes her wary. “Just a little.”  
  
“Hmm,” she says, and yanks her own shirt over her head, wriggling out of her skirt as she goes. It is definitely a goner. Even if she’d hoped to get the bloodstains out, there’s a huge rip up the side from when she’d nearly taken a header off of a cliff. Three months ago, she wouldn’t have been thankful for Derek being anywhere near her. But today, she’d definitely been grateful for him tugging her gently back over the edge, even if his stupid teeth had ripped her skirt.  
  
Stiles is staring at her when she looks back up, his eyes narrowed speculatively as they run down her body, pausing on her lips, her clavicles, the swell of her breasts, and the curve of her hips. He’s just looking and it’s not— well, it is something that he’s never seen before, isn’t it? For all that they’d fucked, it was straightforward and to the point — she’d gotten his pants undone and coaxed her own down her hips, and that was that. Just because he’s been inside of her and knows that she likes it when he bites her nipples doesn’t mean he’s ever actually _seen her naked_.  
  
It makes her feel weirdly self-conscious, like maybe she should cross her arms over her tits just so he can’t see that her bra is purple with polka dots because it was a quiet day around the house, not the typical sports bra that she wears when she’s on jobs.  
  
But that’s stupid. Really fucking stupid. She’s got nothing to be ashamed of and mostly, just the fact that she wants to cover her body is what convinces her to do the exact opposite. So Allison stands there instead, arms at her sides and pointedly stares back at him until he wrinkles his nose and starts stripping out of his own clothes.  
  
“So,” Stiles starts nonchalantly, shoving his jeans down his hips as she goes. He’s wearing Batman boxers under them, because _of course_ he is. She and Lydia haven’t been with them for long, but they’ve been with the Hale pack long enough to know that Stiles wears ratty jeans and about three shirts when he’s not actively running for his life. She knows that he likes comic books and stupid, horrible movies that he taunts the rest of the pack with; that he eats cereal out of mugs for some dumb reason and that he secretly calls the pack the collective Robins to Derek’s Batman when he thinks the alpha isn’t in hearing range.  
  
She’s so distracted judging his underwear that she almost misses it when he says, “Are we ever going to talk about it?”  
  
Allison blinks, licking her lips as her eyes dart up to Stiles’, and says, stupidly, “What?”  
  
He snorts, plucking at the waistband of his boxers. It’s a nervous habit that she’d noticed a week into living with them, how his hands are always in motion. He’s always in motion, whether it’s a pen drumming against a table or hands waving wildly when he talks, but it’s always worse when he’s got a bad case of the nerves. The day that her mom had almost killed Scott, he’d been all over the place. Lydia had actually threatened to sedate him.  
  
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Argent,” he tells her, running a quick hand through his hair. “But just in case you’ve developed amnesia recently, I’m referring to that time you pulled me out of a burning building and fucked me against the nearest tree.”  
  
Her entire face goes hot — not so much with embarrassment, though that’s there too, burning like fire under her skin. It’s the memory that makes her blush, that feeling of being so out of control, so _wrathful_ that she’d felt the need to either fuck him until they were both hurting or shoot him until he didn’t look human anymore.  
  
“It was—” she starts, and then bites her lip, because she doesn’t know how she wants that sentence to end. It was a mistake, but he’ll take it the wrong way if she says that. Saying that fucking him was a mistake will bring his hackles up and turn him into the cruel, biting facade of a living, breathing weapon that was all she knew until she took the time to know him.  
  
Allison picks at her thumbnail and keeps her eyes fixed to the complicated rune just above his heart, the one that glows like a night star when they’re in danger. The first time she’d seen it, he’d made a Lord of the Rings joke — “It’s my light of Eärendil and Sting at the same time, no orcs just yet, but there have been a few spiders” — and she’d laughed, harder once she noted the look of surprise on his face.  
  
“It was something,” she decides on, nodding decisively.  
  
“Something,” he deadpans, and she chances a glance upwards in time to catch him turning away from her, arms coming up to wrap around his belly. Defensive posture. She’s not sure that she likes that. “That’s swell. Something, indeed. I mean, I get it. We’ve all had horny adrenaline spells, no shame in that—”  
  
“Stiles,” Allison interrupts, making up her mind when his eyes flick to hers. She takes a step closer, and then another, and another, until she’s close enough to curl her hand around the hinge of his jaw. She tilts his chin up, until he’s looking at her, wary and slightly anxious. Allison smiles to steady him, and says, “It was the kind of something that I wouldn’t mind repeating.”  
  
He blinks. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss him. “No trees this time though.”  
  
He snorts into the kiss and that’s nice too, how easy it is now that she’s not so angry, now that she knows Stiles as a person and not just the enemy. “We do seem to have a thing for buildings that have been the victims of fire though,” he murmurs against her lips, fingers trailing carefully down her sides. It makes her shiver, gooseflesh rising where he touches.  
  
“We’ll have to avoid that next time,” Allison says, grinning into the kiss when he pulls her in closer, his hands grabbing two handfuls of her ass and dragging her in, until they’re pressed together from chest to thigh.  
  
She moans at the friction, biting down on his lip because she can — because she knows that he likes it — and suddenly, Allison would do absolutely anything to get his mouth lower, that slick tongue of his between her legs. He’d be good at it, she knows. He’s got the worst oral fixation of anyone she’s ever met and just from kissing him, she can tell he’d like it. That it might even be his favorite part of sex, on his knees before someone. Allison won’t know until she tries.  
  
“I want you to eat me out,” she tells him, pressing another quick kiss to his mouth when he pulls back to stare at her.  
  
He smirks at her, all traces of reluctance gone. “Do you?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
The smirk transitions easily to a grin and she smiles back, because it’s contagious, because you can’t look at Stiles Stilinski grinning for real, all masks down, and not want to join in on the joke.  
  
“Skipping to the wedding already?” he teases, bending to kiss the swell of her breast. He looks up at her through his lashes, impish, and purrs, “Presumptuous of you, wouldn’t you say?”  
  
“Oh for god’s sake,” she says, unwilling to admit that she’s breathless already, and shoves him to his knees.  
  
He laughs at her, but credit to where credit’s due, he doesn’t waste any time, he just gets straight to business, pressing his nose to the front of her underwear and breathing deep before he shoves them down her thighs.  
  
“Is that something you picked up from the wolves?” she asks curiously as his finger dips inside of her, like he’s testing to see how wet she is already. “The smell thing?”  
  
“Maybe,” he answers on a quiet hum, leaning in and dragging the flat of his tongue over her clit. Her breath catches in her chest. “But it’s probably just a me thing. I like the way you smell and god, you taste even better. Now hush, I’m about to make you feel totally fucking awesome.”  
  
“Bet you ten bucks you can’t make me come in the next five minutes.”  
  
He snorts, nuzzling into the wet heat of her like he can’t get enough — like he wants to stay down there for hours — but gamely, he licks her once and mumbles, “Make that ten bucks _and_ your second favorite gun and you’ve got yourself a deal.”  
  
Allison doesn’t come in five minutes; she comes in six.  
  
Stiles wrinkles his nose at her, his face absolutely drenched with her, and he’s so fucking adorable when he’s being petulant that she just has to lean in and kiss his nose before sliding down to the floor with him.  
  
“You did that just to be contrary,” he accuses, waving a finger under her nose. Amused, she sucks the tip of it into her mouth, watching him go glassy-eyed with pleasure.  
  
“Nope, I just really like my guns. If you’d bet me one of my bows I probably would have had you down there for half an hour, just to make a point.”  
  
Warm all over and flushed from orgasm, Allison giggles when he rolls her over and keeps laughing as he lines up the head of her cock. She only stops when he rolls his hips, sliding smoothly inside, and even then, it’s only because he’s kissing her again.  
  
“Don’t suppose you want to make another wager?” he asks her a couple seconds later. He’s not panting yet, but there’s a red flush working it’s way up his chest, and sometime, she wants to see how long it’ll take to make him go red all over.  
  
“What did you have in mind?” she asks breathlessly, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts.  
  
He grins down at her, pulling out only to ease his way back in, slow and teasing. She groans at him, reaching around to dig her nails into his ass, pulling them flush together.  
  
“If I make you come again before I do, you’ve gotta go on a date with me. I'm thinking some exotic beach somewhere. No pack, no crazy family, just us.”  
  
She raises an eyebrow at him and thinks of all the things she wants to do to him, how she wants to map his tattoos with her tongue and see firsthand if there are any benefits to having sex with someone who is, quite literally, magic.  
  
“You’re on,” she purrs, and leans in to suck a nipple into her mouth.  
  
.  
  
(She lets him win. It isn’t the worst loss she’s ever suffered.)  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick and dirty little ficmix to accompany my entry for the Teen Wolf Rarepair Exchange. First half of the mix for Allison Argent, the up and coming Argent protégé, all silver-sweet smiles and gunmetal. Second half of the mix for Stiles Stilinski, the human assassin who runs with wolves and sparks like a storm. You can guess the places where they overlap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do feel like I should mention that this mix was created before I nixed my first draft. Originally the story was going to be much, much darker, but I kept backing myself into plot holes and had to give up and try again. I still liked the mix a lot, so I decided to keep it anyway, but some of the songs (especially on Stiles' half of the mix) are significantly darker than the Stiles in the story.

 

"I may not turn into a big bad wolf, Argent," he says, still smiling. "But don't ever think that I'm just their little red riding hood. I'm just as much of a wolf where it counts." **  
**

[[Listen @ 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/callunavulgari/salute-salute)]

 

 

 **o1. Salute [Little Mix]**  
You think we're just pretty things  
You couldn't be more wrong  
(We're standing strong, we carry on)  
Knock us but we keep moving up (we're moving up, yeah)  
Can't stop a hurricane, ladies it's time to awake (yeah!)

  
  
 **o2. Move Like a Soldier [Kristina Maria]**  
I’m going nuts here  
Thinking how I could’ve been brave, not a quitter  
Yes I can stop now, but I’m going to practice my aim in the mirror  
Tonight, I’m holding out till the morning  
I’m holding out till the morning comes  
And I can have your attention  
Show you how I’m the only one  
  
To break down your walls  
Highjack your brain  
Run through your veins  
I’m going to move like a soldier (I’m going like a tank)  
I’m going to move like a soldier (I’m go-going like a tank)

  
  
 **o3. Glory and Gore [Lorde]**  
There's a humming in the restless summer air  
And we're slipping off the course that we prepared  
But in all chaos, there is calculation  
Dropping glasses just to hear them break

And the cry goes out  
They lose their minds for us  
And how it plays out  
Now we're in the ring  
And we're coming for blood

 

  
 **o4.** **Problem [Ariana Grande ft. Iggy Azalea]**  
Hey baby even though I hate you  
I wanna love you  
I want you  
And even though I can't forgive you  
I really want to  
I want you  
  
Tell me, tell me baby  
Why can't you leave me?  
Cause even though I shouldn't want it  
I gotta have it  
I want you  
  
Head in the clouds  
Got no weight on my shoulders  
I should be wiser  
And realize that I've got  
One less problem without you

  
  
 **o5. Titanium** **[David Guetta ft. Sia]**  
Cut me down  
But it's you who'll have further to fall  
Ghost town and haunted love  
Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones  
I'm talking loud not saying much  
  
I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose  
Fire away, fire away  
Ricochet, you take your aim  
Fire away, fire away  
  
You shoot me down but I won't fall  
I am titanium

  
  
 **o6. Oh No! [Marina & the Diamonds]**  
Don't do love, don't do friends  
I'm only after success  
Don't need a relationship  
I'll never soften my grip  
  
Don't want cash, don't want card  
Want it fast, want it hard  
Don't need money, don't need fame  
I just want to make a change  
I just wanna change  
  
I know exactly what I want and who I want to be  
I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine  
I'm now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy  
Oh, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh  
  
One track mind, one track heart  
If I fail, I'll fall apart  
Maybe it is all a test  
Cause I feel like I'm the worst  
So I always act like I'm the best

  
  
 **o7. Problem [Natalia Kills]**  
‘Cause theres no salvation for a bad girl  
We’re rock bottom  
But there ain’t no stopping  
‘Cause they don’t know nothing about love  
We’re hell raising  
And we don’t need saving  
‘Cause theres no salvation for a bad boy  
We’re rock bottom  
But there ain’t no stopping  
‘Cause its you and me against the world

  
  
 **o8. Chandelier [Sia]**  
I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier  
I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist  
Like it doesn't exist  
I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry  
I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier  
  
But I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down, won't open my eyes  
Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cause I'm just holding on for tonight  
Help me, I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down, won't open my eyes  
Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cause I'm just holding on for tonight  
On for tonight

  
  
 **o9. Coloris [She]**  
Welcome to the future,  
All the things you know are slowly fading away...  
Are you ready?  
Give it to me!  
  
You're from far away as stars can go,  
You are beautiful,  
You just don't know.  
  
Won't you tell me what you feeling?  
You peculiar mysterious kind...  
Won't you tell me what you're feeling?

 

  
 **1o. Paper Planes [M.I.A., Bun B, Rich Boy]**  
Sometimes I think sitting on trains  
Every stop I get to I'm clocking that game  
Everyone's a winner, we're making our fame  
Bona fide hustler making my name

  
  
 **11\. Good Intent [Kimbra]**  
She broke your bones, now you're lying in the dirt  
The shadow of a hunter under your torture  
It's not enough to say, it's not what's in your heart  
You've tainted every moment till death do we part  
  
I know you didn't mean it, boy you meant so well  
The pennies are cascading down your wishing well  
I know you didn't mean it when you counted to ten  
You're slipping through the fingers of your good intent

 

  
**12\. Dark Horse [Katy Perry ft. Juicy J]  
**

I knew you were  
You were gonna come to me  
And here you are  
But you better choose carefully  
‘Cause I, I’m capable of anything  
Of anything and everything  
  
Make me your Aphrodite  
Make me your one and only  
But don’t make me your enemy, your enemy, your enemy  
  
So you wanna play with magic  
Boy, you should know what you're falling for  
Baby do you dare to do this?  
Cause I’m coming at you like a dark horse  
Are you ready for, ready for  
A perfect storm, perfect storm  
Cause once you’re mine, once you’re mine  
There’s no going back

  
  
 **13.** **Blow [Ke$ha]  
**

Back door cracked, we don't need a key  
We get in for free, no V.I.P. sleaze,  
Drink that Kool-Aid follow my lead,  
Now you're one of us, you're coming with me  
  
It's time to kill the lights and shut the DJ down  
(This place's about to)  
Tonight we're taking over, no one's getting out

 

  
 **14.** **Die Young [Ke$ha]**  
Young hearts, out our minds  
Running 'til we outta time  
Wild child's lookin' good  
Living hard just like we should  
Don't care who's watching when we tearing it up (You Know)  
That magic that we got nobody can touch (For sure)  
  
Looking for some trouble tonight (yeah)  
Take my hand, I'll show you the wild side  
Like it's the last night of our lives (uh huh)  
We'll keep dancing 'til we die

 

  
**15\. Dysfunctional [Tech N9ne]  
**

But he don't know I'm roguish  
Surrounded by my soldiers  
And they be locked and loaded  
Will explode if you can't hold us  
And we don't got no scruples  
We didn't come to fight and shoot you  
But you busters better be neutral  
Don't get loose because we cuckoo  
  
Listen, They call me genius, I run the show  
Woman be on my penis, It's wonderful  
Demons think they the meanest  
But I brung the foe on the flow  
Little bit sick, Don't you know?  
  
I'm a little dysfunctional, Don't you know?  
If you push me, It might be bad  
Get a little emotional, Don't you know?  
You could fool around and make me mad  
I'm a little dysfunctional, Don't you know?  
If you push me, It might be bad  
Get a little emotional, Don't you know?  
Might fool around and make me mad  
Don't make me mad

 

 

**16\. Railroad Track [Willy Moon]**

Well everybody come along with me  
I'll take you to a place you never did seen  
You gotta rhythm with the two left feet  
and a big man's band on a rolling street yeah  
aw yeah  
  
He's got a rhythm and it's all you need  
So everybody come and rock your thing  
Take you down to the early days  
when the champagne flow like a river stream yeah

 

  
 **17\. Invaders Must Die [The Prodigy]**  
Invaders must die

 

  
 **18\. Blood On My Hands [Nobody Beats the Drum]**  
I got some blood on my hands  
don't know who it is from  
it was a bare-knuckled fight  
I don't know where to run

 

 **19\. Look At Me Now [Chris Brown ft. Busta Rhymes & Lil Wayne]**  
Let's go!  
'Cause I'm feeling like I'm running  
And I'm feeling like I gotta get away, get away, get away  
Better know that I don't and I won't ever stop  
'Cause you know I gotta win everyday, day  
Go!  
See they really really wanna pop me  
Just know that you will never flop me  
And I know that I can be a little cocky  
Oh  
You ain't never gonna stop me  
  
And I come to give you more and I will never give you less  
You will hear it in the street or you can read it in the press  
Do you really wanna know what's next? Let's go  
See the way we on it and we all up in the race and you know  
We gotta go, now try to keep up with the pace  
And we struggle and I hustle and I set it and I get it  
And we always gotta do it take it to another place  
Gotta taste it and I gotta grab it  
And I gotta cut all through this traffic  
Just to be at the top of the throne  
Better know I gotta have it, have it

 

 **2o. D3mons [Machine Gun Kelly ft. dmx]**  
Fuck it, Turn the cam on, tie his feet and his hands up and watch him  
I’ll be back up with that heat to get his tan on  
Now that’s for fucking with me  
And that’s for my dog  
This because where you’re going you’re not gonna need that arm  
The street’s is talking, Uh oh, there they come, Thirsty for that blood, Red rum, red rum  
Do you know how it feels to be so mad you would kill?  
Or to be so trapped when you scream your throat cuts like jagged pills?  
And whenever you close your eyes everything inside you dies  
And all the ‘high’s, crimes, and lies’ come alive muthafucka

  
  
 **21\. Power & Control [Marina & the Diamonds]**  
Power and control.  
Give a little, get a lot,  
That’s just how you are with love.  
Give a little, get a lot,  
Yeah, you may be good looking,  
But you’re not a piece of art.  
  
Power and control,  
I’m gonna make you fall.  
Power and control,  
I’m gonna make you fall.  
  
Women and men we are the same,  
But love will always be a game,  
We give and take a little more,  
Eternal game of tug and war.  
  
Think you’re funny, think you’re smart,  
Think you’re gonna break my heart.  
Think you’re funny, think you’re smart,  
Yeah, you may be good looking,  
But you’re not a piece of art.

  
  
 **22\. Bloody Shirt [To Kill a King]**  
What you want to do tonight?  
I got wounds to lick in life  
Oh you've said  
Standing like a stick  
This tie could invert to be a noose instead  
  
Oh you lie next to me  
Heart is beating heavily  
There's blood in your ear though  
Blood on your shirt  
It's too late to say you're sorry  
Say you're sorry still  
I stepped out with heavy heart  
To bail you out again  
Oh those things you do  
Oh those things you do  
  
Get out! And get gone  
This town is only gonna get worse  
Get out! And get gone  
This town is only gonna eat you

 

  
 **23.** **Shut Me Up [Mindless Self Indulgence]**  
I don't find it funny right now (right now)  
Just want my ma-ma-ma-money right now (now)  
I'm on my way to the party right now (right now)  
  
Because the break, the break, the break  
  
I can't wait for you to shut me up  
And make me hip like bad ass  
I can't wait for you to shut me up  
Shut it up

 

  
 **24\. R.I.P. Everyone [Nightcore]**  
Cold is the hand on the angel of death  
Drawing you to it's embrace  
From a caress  
Reducing to strangle your neck  
  
Pulling into and from grace  
This is your fate  
Stare into the eyes of your sin  
Every morning you begin  
  
Who are your family?  
Who are your friends?  
Lost in the culprit of needles and pins  
Tommy was itchin'  
  
The fix in the kitchen  
He made a decision  
He wanted to scratch  
Chasing the dragon  
  
But facing the dragon  
Is not really something  
He wanted to catch  
But he finally did

 

**25\. Wonderland [Natalia Kills]**

I'm not Snow White,  
but I'm lost inside this forest.  
I'm not Red Riding Hood,  
but I think the wolves have got me.  
Don't want your stilettos!  
I'm not, not Cinderella..  
I don't need a knight,  
so baby take off all your armor!  
You be the beast,  
and I'll be the beauty beauty.  
Who needs true love,  
as long as you love me truly?  
I want it all,  
but I want ya more!  
Will you wake me up boy  
if I bite your poison apple?  
  
  
I don't believe in fairy tales..  
I don't believe in fairy tales..  
I don't believe in fairy tales,  
but I believe in you and me!

 

 **26.** **A Little Death [The Neighborhood]**  
Dancing through the night  
A vodka and a sprite  
A glimpse of the silhouettes  
A night that they never forget  
  
Touch me, yeah  
I want you to touch me there  
Make me feel like I am breathing  
Feel like I am human  
  
She sought death on a queen-sized bed  
And he had said, "Darling, your looks can kill,  
So now you’re dead."


End file.
